That Which Demons Dread
by Johtande
Summary: The king is dead, but one of the new would-be-kings is not so sure the king-killer is. This is the story of one of the men sent after Kvothe. The story is an attempt to expand the world beyond the current books, but Patrick Rothfuss has the right to his world and all characterss. Rated M for sexual and violent themes, but I will try not to be explicit.
1. Prologue

Prologue

The march stopped. Camp was made, and a great darkness covered the whole of the army, and it was of three parts.

The first was the great big darkness of night, with no sources of light to be found. If the sun still shone, setting in the west, the last tendrils of daylight would illuminate the formation as it went about its tent building. If it had been a clear night, the moon, now at the height of fulness, would've brightly illuminated the road and the clearing, and the stars would have broken the night sky further with twinkling beauty. If there were fires… but no, of course there was no fire. There had already been enough fire, and so there was no more fire needed. In fact, so practiced was the army at setting camp in the dark that there was no source of light needed, and so the darkness held.

The second darkness was in the spirits of the soldiers. For that which stopped the moon and the stars was not tree coverage. It was neither clouds nor storms. It was not of any natural origin, for it came from the smoke of the village burning in the distance behind them. The second darkness filled each soldier, as they worried for the sake of their own villages, their own families. And for those who had come from nothing to join the army, it filled them with dread for the fate of their immortal souls.

The third darkness was hard to notice, though the astute could reasonably trace it back to the officers, still mounted and deep in thought, circled around each other to create a dense darkness. But this created darkness was just a special form of the second darkness, the darkness on the spirits of generals who must ponder the consequences of their actions for the sake of their country, their men, and their souls. But the third darkness indeed had its source in the circle, one young officer whose own darkness dwarfed the other two kinds of darkness and made them complete.

The young man was strong with fair skin, crystal blue eyes, and dark hair. A beard might have been forming on his face, but that could've been the dirt or a trick of shadows. His face spoke of an easy smile, but his eyes showed that he might never smile again.

The third darkness was his, and to all in the circle, the only noticeable darkness emanated from him, and from the orders he held in his hand. It was deep and soul crushing, and its weight brought tears to the eyes of the officers in the circle, but not to the young man. The young man's eyes were empty and void. They were the eyes of a man who'd been ordered to kill his idol.


	2. Chapter 1

The horse's hooves beat a steady tempo into the mud. The muck stuck to hoof and fur up to the knee, hiding the natural color beneath a ruddy brown. Above the knee, the horse was pale, and had the horse been clean, it would've shone a brilliant white. The rider sat in stark contrast, garbed in a black that seemed to wrap itself around him, apparently impervious to the heat. The hood of his cloak hung low over deep, sea-blue eyes, and thin lips formed a tight line. As the muted tempo turned to a rhythmic tapping, the rider looked up.

The dirt trail had become a cobbled-stone road as the gates of a town loomed ahead. The guards moved to stop this traveler of unknown identity, and the rider drew back his head to reveal pale skin, dark hair, and the shadow of a beard on his lean face. The guards froze, then bowed, allowing him to pass as a runner was sent up the hill to let the duke know Master Dyrn had returned.

As he rode slowly through the city, he was surprised by how little the war seemed to have affected the town. The blacksmith made spades and swords in equal measure, the bakery made more food than normal in the form of hard-tack, and the tavern was especially busy. Here, the war was little more than a distant rumor, good for profit and talk, but hardly real. As Dyrn approached the keep, the guards saluted and allowed him to pass. A stable hand appeared to take his horse when he dismounted, but he saw no one as he traveled through the foyer to stand in the antechamber to the main hall. His patience had just begun to wear thin when the door opened, he was announced, and he walked in to stand before the Duke and bow.

"I thought you were on the frontlines, serving the family well in the war," the Duke's tone was even, but still the disappointment edged into his voice.

"I was, father, but have received orders to return to the capital, and I stopped here to make some preparations. The king believes Kvothe lives."

The duke nodded, rose from his chair, and left the room. The meeting was over, Dyrn was not given the courtesy of a proper dismissal.

"It's good to have you back, Master Dyrn. We can change game night to tomorrow, if you are able to join us." The butler spoke with a great kindness, as if to make right every wrong done to Dyrn, and the darkness that had held him the last span finally broke, and Dyrn smiled.

f you really wish to lose so soon, why not keep it tonight, Torval?"

"I believe there are… other matters which require your more immediate attention, sir." The butler bowed, returning the smile. "Your workshop has been well taken care of, and you should probably address its caretaker first." Torval winked and turned to rush after the duke, leaving Dyrn in the hall alone.

After a moment, he walked out at a determinedly unhurried pace. Especially at home, appearance was everything. It took him a few minutes to walk through the keep to the side entrance, where a rocky path lead to a low warehouse nestled against the mountain bordering one side of the keep. A light glowed warmly within, and Dyrn couldn't help but smile. He took the pendant from his neck and touched it to the door where a keyhole should have been. After a soft click, he turned the handle and quietly opened the door.

The room was circular, with a small table and some chairs in the center. To Dyrn's left, a bookshelf hugged the wall, stopping a short distance from a self-emptying chamber pot and a tub. Opposite the door sat a large bed whose headboard touched the side of the mountain. Past the bed, more bookshelves ran to a door centered on the right half of the room. Between the doors sat a hearth, and in front of the hearth sat a couch.

He apparently hadn't made enough noise to disturb the occupant of the couch. A sympathy lamp suspended over her shoulder shed light onto the pages of the open book in her hands, a copy of one used in the Medica. Steady shadows from the lamp and flickering shadows from the fire in the hearth played tricks on the eyes and stirred the imagination as they highlighted her every curve. Careful not to make a sound, Dyrn moved around the edges of the room, moving closer to the couch as he drew behind it. Careful not to cast a shadow, he rose up behind the couch's occupant and, with a quick rush planted a kiss on her cheek.

Or at least, he expected it to be her cheek. Instead, she had turned her face at the last moment to lock lips with him, though he would not rationalize this turn of events for a few moments. For a while they stayed there, lost in the kiss, until she drew back, and he stood up.

"You didn't make the lock quiet enough, love," she said with a smile as she rolled to a seated position.

"Kayda, my dear, you are simply too perceptive," he smiled back as he moved around to join her on the couch. Before he could sit, however, she stood and shooed him away from it.

"I _perceive_ ," she said wryly, "that you have been too long on the road without a bath." She began undressing him, then, when he had taken over, moved to start the tap that fed water to a tub.

"I expected you to want me undressed quickly, but not like this," he chuckled, loud enough to be heard over the tap.

You have to smell good before I let you into the bed.

"You do remember it is my bed, right," he teased, making his way to the bath as he let his undergarments fall to the floor.

"You don't want to sleep in it alone, do you?" she retorted with a snicker, watching him walk by with an appreciative stare. He stepped into the bath and sunk till he was completely submerged, then sat upright. Kayda moved behind him and started to wash his back as she spoke. "Not that I'm complaining, but you're back a lot earlier than we expected."

"The new King believes that Kvothe lives, and I've been sent to hunt him down."

"But why you?" She finished his back and started scrubbing his now outstretched arms.

"The order didn't say. Perhaps the he wishes to send an arcanist after an arcanist. Perhaps he heard we went to university together. Perhaps he's pulled names from his crown." She finished his arms as he finished his musing, and he spun around a bit too quickly, grabbing the soap, snatching a kiss, and splashing her with water.

"If this was your plan to get me undressed as well, you're spoiling your own fun," she stood and walked back toward Dyrn's pile of clothes, moving them to a basket and removing her own to toss on the pile. "What else hasn't he told you?" Fully undressed, she turned back to the tub where Dyrn now stood to wash his lower half. He looked up as he started to answer but froze as she walked back toward him.

"A-anything, really," he stuttered when she reached him and pushed his head back towards his own body. "I know who I'm hunting, I have been told to prepare myself for the hunt, and I have been ordered to present myself to the king in three span for inspection." He finished his scrub down, albeit hurriedly, ducked into the water one last time and stepped out of the tub.

"Then I'll have to make the most of the next two span." Kayda used a towel to dry him off, slowly maneuvering him toward the bed. As they reached the edge, she tossed aside the towel, pushed him onto the bed, and they lost themselves in each other's arms as only young lovers could.


	3. Chapter 2

Kayda lay on Dyrn's side as he woke the following morning, and he lost himself in her beauty as his mind woke up. She sighed, and the motion brought him back and encouraged a gentle kiss on the top of her head.

"You don't have to be about your business just yet, my love," she mumbled as she shifted her weight so that more of it was on him and her head was closer to his. Gently, he moved her up a little more and kissed her, long and full. She started to move further onto his chest, and they lost themselves in kisses until they both were straining for breath.

His thoughts wandered to what he had to do to prepare, and what he had to prepare to do as Kayda rose and began cleaning herself, drawing up a new bath

"Best part of being a 'consort' of a wealthy noble has got to be the daily bath," she called.

"Best?" he inquired absent-mindedly, picking up a ring on the bed side table.

"When you're not here, yes."

"But the books…" he trailed off, loosing himself in a memory of the ring.

The duke was not so foolish as to prevent tinker's from passing through his town, but he had no love for what he referred to as vagrants. He did, of course, forbid his children from seeing the tinker, but any more hostility ran the risk of tarnishing his good name. It came as a great surprise to this tinker, then, when the duke's fourth son joined him at the inn.

"A brave lad, to disobey a father," the tinker said with a reproachful look ruined by the smile in his eyes. "Brave, and not a little foolish."

"More foolish the man that forbids tradition than the son that breaks rules to uphold it," the words were filled with confidence that ill-fit such a young face, and the tinker realized this boy was less a child than he should be. He was just about to treat the child like an adult when the serious expression on the child's face broke and a grin as boyish as it should be grew wide as he continued, "So tinker, how fares the road to Tinue?"

"Blessedly safe," the tinker said, glad to see that the boy was still a child at heart. "Am I right in thinking you've come to bargain?"

"Unfortunately, tinker, I don't have much to bargain with," the boy sighed, reaching into his pocket, 'but I do have this. Three coins and a promise." He placed the coins on the table between them, bright and gold. The tinker struggled to hide his surprise that so young a boy would have so much coin, so he played a different game.

"A promise from a lord-ling is no small thing," he said sagely. "What kind of promise?"

The boy thought a while before speaking, though the tinker believed it mostly a part of the act.

"I can give you my word that no tinker who greets me by name will ever leave empty handed, even if he has nothing to trade."

"That is a powerful promise indeed from one so young," the tinker said after letting the weight of the offer sink in. "And may this tinker inquire of your name, young sir?" A wry smile rose on the tinker's face despite himself. Few adults were this entertaining to deal with, so he knew he would never forget the child's name.

"Well now, that is the question," the boy returned the smile and held it silently until the tinker's own started to flicker. "But a gentleman such as myself should have introduced himself from the first." The smile grew wider. "I am Dyrn."

"A name I'll never forget, and shall tell all my tinker friends to remember as a man to be dealt with fairly." The tinker relaxed. The ball was in his court now, and he thought he had just the items for Dyrn. "Three coins and a promise you have given me and three items and a wise word you shall receive." He reached into his pockets, finally understanding why he'd needed to bring these items into the inn with him.

"First a ring, common as you like, until you look closely." He handed the ring to Dyrn, a single piece of twine braided in on itself thrice, but there was something more to it. No matter how you turned the ring, the start and end of the braid could not be found, even with close inspection. The tinker thought he might have to explain this to Dyrn, but the boy caught on quick.

"It's a ring that goes on forever," he said with reverence, and the tinker's smile became wise.

"This ring is best saved for love that lasts as long."

"It's a magic ring?!" Dyrn's question was almost a squeal, though the patrons of the inn all pretended not to notice the lack of decorum. The tinker smiled and handed over the next item.

"This seed will grow a tree with the sweetest fruit." Dyrn's smile faltered, if only briefly, so the tinker put on a serious face, which Dyrn quickly matched. "This tree is best to grow and tend when others must tend to you."

"Is that different than me having to let others tend to me?" A simple question that brought a tear to the eye of the tinker. Not even ten, and his phrasing proved him to be not just nobility, but a noble spirit.

"Yes," the tinker said sadly. "You'll know that it is time to plant it when you can accept not getting to see it bear fruit." A puzzled look crossed Dyrn's face as he struggled through the meaning of these words, and the tinker handed over the final item. The boy looked up from his puzzling and reached out eagerly when he saw what it was. The tinker drew it back and held it close. "Be careful to use this only on things you want to last." He let the words hang ominously as he gave an ornate hammer over.

Dyrn accepted it and hid all of the items in his clothing, the ring and seed each in a separate pocket and the hammer tucked into a boot, pant leg hanging to hide it. With his purchases well hidden, he turned back to the tinker and his face struggled to show both excitement and seriousness.

"And the wise word?"

"You are as sharp as a tack," was all the tinker could say before another boy rushed over to the table and tapped on Dyrn's shoulder.

"Papa said playtime is over," the newcomer spoke nervously, looking out the window of the inn behind him. Dyrn's face changed completely and he stood, turning back to the tinker as he started to move away.

"I'm sorry sir, but I must go. I shall have to find you and ask for the wise word on some later day." And he was off. The tinker was confused and slightly upset at the turn of events, but then he saw the duke out the window. He smiled to himself as he sat back at his table and called for a drink.

A hand touched Dyrn's and gently took the ring from it.

"Ignoring me for a memory now?" A smile was on her face and in her voice, and he knew he had made the right choice in giving it to her.

"Just thinking of how I got it," he said, pulling her gently down on top of him.

"What did the tinker say, 'Give it to the first cute girl you lay eyes on?'" she teased, pushing herself up a bit, putting space between their faces.

"Not quite," he laughed, then rolled her over so that he was on top, carefully keeping just inches between their bodies.

"Regret your choice for the magic ring yet?" her lips brushed dangerously close to his as she spoke, and he had to fight hard not to kiss her then.

"It's not really magic," he paused, seeing her brow furrow, "Never will I ever regret you." He kissed her then and, with as much determination as he had ever used in his alar, rose from the bed, put on a shirt and pants, and went to the desk. Kayda sighed heavily behind him.

"I have to make sure I have what I need to not die, love," he tried to reassure her as he started sketching on a piece of paper.

"I know, but I don't have to be happy about it, do I?" She got dressed and moved to the couch, picking up the book she had been reading the previous day

They remained in their own tasks, pausing when a servant brought lunch, until a knock came at the door late in the evening.

"Sir, game night will begin shortly," Torval's voice broke the relative silence of the evening.

"Thank you for the reminder," Dyrn stood from his work, straightened his clothes, and walked over to Kayda.

"If I'm not here, I'll be at the inn," she said as he approached, shooing him away without looking up from her book. He grunted an acknowledgment, realizing he had upset her earlier, but knowing he didn't have time to fix it now. With one last look at her over his shoulder, he opened the door and followed Torval to the servant's quarters.


	4. Chapter 3

As Torval opened the door to the servant's mess hall, a slurred voice called out, "Finally," followed by a cheer as Dyrn entered the room. The head-cook, the stable master, the captain of the guard, and the head-maid sat at one of the long tables, a cup and a set of dice in front of them, with two more cups and dice unattended. Around them, various other servants relaxed on benches and against the walls. One filled a mug held by the stable master, who's voice had been the first to greet them. She brought another mug to Dyrn, which he gladly took.

"Why are our games always a spectator sport?" Dyrn sighed halfheartedly as he sat by one of the empty sets.

"Because everyone is trying to figure out how you cheat," the stable-master growled, half into his cup.

"Maybe your own foolishness is the spectacle, Brek" Torval said to him calmly but with a smile.

"Would you like me to have him flogged, sir?" the captain of the guard's voice was deadpan, but he cast a grin and a sidelong glance at the stablemaster as he spoke.

"Fa," Brek spat, "None of your boys have what it takes to get more than a grunt out of me, Wyllo." A smug expression sat on his face for only the briefest moments.

"From what I've heard, the same can be said of you regarding your various girls," the head-maid spoke softly, but her voice carried well enough that the whole room froze before everyone but Brek laughed, Dyrn loudest of all.

"Shall we begin then?" The cook spoke with a last chuckle, his deep voice calming everyone. Brek fumed into his drink as he smoothly gathered the dice into the cup with his free hand. Everyone followed suit and, with an ease that spoke of familiarity and practice, the game began. Dyrn lost the first die, and a second in a later round, but won the game easily enough.

"See!" Brek practically shouted. "He cheats!"

"How do I cheat?" Dyrn asked, over-acting a gesture of innocence.

"Probably magic," The maid suggested, less softly than before, as they'd all had their mugs refilled at least once during the game.

"Now, now, Vella," the cooks booming voice carried a genuine chastisement. "We all know the lord wouldn't stoop to such underhanded tactics." He placed a meaty hand on the table and began to rise but was stopped by Torval.

"We do know this, Jud," he said reassuringly. "But, just to be safe, I took the liberty of acquiring these in his absence." He emptied a bag of wooden dice onto the table, then laid the bag next to them, label up. "Anti-Arcanist Dice," the smile on his face flashed smug for the briefest second.

Murmured conversations about "fairness" and "it's for the best" sprouted around the table. Brek's voice was conspicuous in its absence, but he seemed to be focusing on counting how many dice he had in front of him. A decision was reached, the new dice were distributed, and a second game began. A third followed, and then a fourth, and it all blurred together until the final game. This, Brek lost quickly, but the game lasted a long while, with Dyrn down to his last die, but still he managed to pull a victory.

"See, Itoldya… itoldya he dinnit cheat," Jud struggled to make himself coherent, but he was grinning fiercely, and Dyrn hugged him, helping him stand.

"You always see the best in me, my friend," Dyrn smiled and gave him to one of the assistant cooks, who helped him in the direction of the servants rooms.

"Thassalltheris," he mumbled as he staggered out, leaning heavily on his help.

"Well played as always, my lord," Vella swayed slightly as she curtsied, and carefully picked her own way to the servants quarters.

"Damnit," Wyllo slammed the table, jostling Brek up from his impromptu nap. "Every damn time." He had been the last one to lose his dice.

"You'll catch me one day," Dyrn smiled as Wyllo stood, bowed, and marched off to the guard's quarters, seemingly none the worse for his drink.

"Noh liklih," Brek mumbled into his arm, passing out on the table again.

"I thought for sure we had you this time," Torval stood impeccable as ever, motioning toward the exit. He nodded and two of the remaining servants pulled Brek out of his chair and dragged him to the servant quarters.

"You surprised me with those dice." Dyrn followed Torval to the door. "I'm not nearly good enough at sympathy for that."

"Yes well, one can never be too sure." They walked in silence down the hall until Dyrn stopped by one of the tapestries.

"Good night Torval," Dyrn called as he ducked behind the fabric.

"Good night sir."

The passageway behind the tapestry was dark, but an alcove near the entrance held sympathy lamps. Dyrn found only one at the alcove, and he knew his guess was right. Turning the lamp on, he followed the passageway to its end, a stairwell beneath a trap door. He turned his sympathy lamp off and placed it in another alcove, this one containing another sympathy lamp, and felt his way up the stairs. He found the door by bumping his head into it and gently pushed it open.

He stepped into a dimly lit cellar with several barrels of alcohol or food stuffs and a chillbox. Voices carried from outside the cellar, and he followed them, brushing himself off as he walked. Laughter bubbled in from the main room of the inn; one high, one low, and one Kayda's. The sounds put a smile on Dyrn's face as he stepped through the doorway.

A man, the innkeeper, stood behind the counter, resting lightly on it with a hand that grasped the hand of a woman on the other side. They faced Kayda and Dyrn, though only the man seemed to notice his entrance, acknowledging him with a slightly wider smile. The couple wore matching rings, solid gold mimics of the twine on Kayda's finger, who was lost in her story.

"Suddenly," she gasped, trying to regain control of her laughter, "He rockets out of the tub, nearly drowning me in a wave of soap and water, and takes off for his desk shouting something about having found the sygaldry for SOAP BUBBLES!" The trio laughed a little too hard, accounting for the nearly empty wine bottle on the counter. "And, and," she was gasping again, "he couldn't even write it down, because he kept dripping onto the paper!"

"If we're sharing embarrassing stories, I've got a few," Dyrn snuck next to Kayda as he spoke, putting an arm around her. Kayda's already red face flushed a deeper hue, and she began to protest as she turned, but the drink had been too much and she fell further into Dyrn's arms as laughter erupted from everyone. She let herself rest there, and Dyrn suspected she had forgotten her anger from earlier.

"How was the game?" Stenn asked as he reached for a new glass.

"Brek's his usual self, by Jud's been drinking more, hasn't he?"

"His youngest son took the Duke and the King's coin," Tyrra said softly. They sat quietly for a while, the mirth from earlier wearing off. When Kayda's head lolled into his chest, Dyrn thanked the innkeeper and his wife, paying for all the drinks despite their protest, and guided Kayda back through the tunnel to the workshop. He laid her gently onto the bed and then drifted off to sleep beside her.


End file.
